


Cutting Losses, Counting the Costs

by PrincelyDisaster



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Menstruation, Murder, Trans man POV, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:16:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincelyDisaster/pseuds/PrincelyDisaster
Summary: The man who would be known as the People Eater exits the decaying cities, entering the Wasteland for the first time. But this is long before the changed world knew him as either of those things- as a man eater or a man.Genfic- mostly. Heed the warnings. A “What-If” origin story where the People Eater is a trans man. (Partially because “why not?”. Partially because I haven’t been able to find many powerful, complex trans male villains in fiction, so I stole one from the cis people for us.) Enjoy!





	Cutting Losses, Counting the Costs

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t say that a trans People Eater is my number one headcanon for the Mad Max series... but I wanted to explore this concept. 
> 
> Mostly I wrote this for myself, since I was tired of seeing trans men as skinny, young boys who never do any wrong- or as villains because of their transness. I wanted someone who could be morally reprehensible the same as cis male characters can be, without it being due to their identity. (Also because I make too many jokes about how I’m “literally the People Eater” to *not* write something about him.)
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

After days and days of walking- how long was it? His feet were killing him. At least it kept his mind off of his peeling sunburn. He’d had to make so many changes in plans recently.

For a while it had suited Richard, to stay in good graces with that gang leader. To let him think he could control him- he certainly did. In body, but not mind. 

It was worth letting him chain him up, having sex with him, and even letting himself be called _girl_

Even if they both knew it was untrue- for all the rounded edges and ample curves on Richard’s body, there were contradictions. His voice was low- he had to pitch it much higher to sound “feminine” enough to avoid a beating. Patchy facial hair grew relentlessly, despite his efforts. He relied on leaving little to the imagination, but was infinitely grateful for the rags he had covering his lower section- his dick, small and unassuming as it was, had to be the worst offender.

No matter what could be said, one thing was true. Despite the circumstances of it his birth -which he actively worked against. Even if he hadn’t taken testosterone to change his body as he saw fit, it was more than that. He was no _girl_.

Funny how the end of the world would get to you- all these problems and he was still concerned about being misgendered. (It hurt the most out of the things he could live through without blocking out.)

But in spite of it all, he had a sense of purpose. He knew their days as a fearsome street gang were numbered, how soon their leadership could be dismantled. And it happened- not the way he wanted it to, no.

He had planned on killing the leader when he least expected it. Isolating him from the group under the pretense of a quick fuck among the rubble, then bashing his head in with a sharp stone he hid in his rags. Coming back to the group, matter of fact, stating he was in charge now. He would tell them if they wanted proof, they could find the corpse themselves. 

No more chains, no more girl voice, no more obeying some filthy cis men. It was damningly simple. 

Too much time had passed since fair play would be considered. It would have been unfair if he _didn’t_ take an opportunity to play dirty. They certainly hadn’t shown _him_ any courtesy, all too willing to take him off the hands of his previous group.

It was his right to seize the leadership, considering how long he’d been at their mercy- Too long. From there he could use their firepower to overtake the aquifer he knew was somewhere in the outback.

He didn’t know exactly where- one of his powerful friends had mentioned it sometime during the Water Wars. A friend of her friend had acquired some land with a great abundance, one they were wise enough to keep quiet about. 

He had some kind of goal. If- no, _when_ he reached the aquifer, he could start fresh. There were supposed to be other riches in that area, not just water. There were whispers of oil, lead, and other resources. (Whether they were true or not was another issue.)

Yes, when he reached it... He didn’t know exactly where it was. But he knew he wanted out of the city and out of this decaying world. Heading towards _something_ was much better than sitting around and waiting to die. 

That was about as much of a plan as he had. But it wasn’t an unsolid one- the group that had taken him was strong, something to be feared.

Or so he thought. 

They became complacent, arrogant. One day they picked a fight with someone they shouldn’t have. Who would have guessed that lead pipes and bare fists would be no match for a flamethrower? 

They’d been easily outgunned. To the victors went the spoils- all except for him.

As soon as he made his case, offering them his body as easily as he could give a false word- they denied him. 

The youth with the thrower himself- just looking at him Richard wondered how he hadn’t already set himself ablaze by making some careless mistake. The answer? A grizzled old woman at his side whispering in his ear.

There weren’t many women around after the world fell. Of course there were still women alive, but most knew what was best for them. Most were starting to cut their hair short and pile on jackets the way Richard himself had done in secondary school. Hiding their curves, passing for male.

The less wise- or perhaps more so- did the opposite. Some were baring what they had, hoping to get by. Bartering their bodies. 

This wasn’t exclusive to just women, though- men were starting to take this route as well. Richard became one of them. He didn’t have much of a choice.

So it was a surprise to see this shriveled old bird with her thin white hair tied up and a smear of rogue on her cheeks, her frailty at odds with the weight of her heavy, practical boots. An even bigger surprise when he’d managed to sway the men in their party into keeping him, but she just shook her head. The men objected, of course- but she and the youth didn’t listen. 

Her reasoning was that she didn’t want another mouth to feed ( _and_ it didn’t matter what benefits they could reap from the _other_ holes on that body), but since he had nothing to do with his old gang’s foolhardy mistake, she couldn’t just let him die. 

So the old bird gave him a compass and a dented metal water bottle, and pointed him away from the city. As she passed him the gifts, she met his eye for an uncomfortably long time.

She nodded and it registered in the back of his mind that she was trying to give him a look or tell him something. Trying to reach him- the first time in ages _anyone_ had tried.

He had a creeping suspicion this was some kind of woman to “woman” thing. First time in ages for that, too. He used to be taken as male well enough, back when air conditioning was more prevalent than murder. These days, he would _kill_ to wear one of his old suits again, be called sir again, to feel _right_ again.

Richard turned away, walked off without looking back- but he kept alert. He didn’t need her pity.

So he set off towards the aquifer that may or may not exist. The water helped while it lasted, the bottle could be used to hold the water he would salvage, and the compass became useful once he ran out of roads to follow. 

It wasn’t the worst he’d been in, but that wasn’t saying much when your comfortable desk job didn’t prepare you for the violence that the end of the world brought about. Or when your testosterone supply ran out and you had to watch your body distribute fat back into the areas you dreaded. 

_(Don’t look down.)_

But the day after he entered the Outback, it _did_ get worse. He started to bleed. 

Not an injury, but the monthly cycle. He knew it would come sooner or later. Better to get it over with, right? 

The main thing keeping the trip tolerable was the sight of rocky cliffs on the edge of the horizon. It would take him a while to reach them on foot- if only he had some kind of vehicle, anything to spare his feet and speed up his journey. 

But he couldn’t complain much now. He was starting to read the desert, figuring out where to get dregs of water and find food from scavengers. 

Add onto that the fact that he wasn’t expected to give up his body for some disease ridden thugs, anymore... His life was starting to get much better now.

Except for the dripping trail of blood he left in his wake. But he tried not to worry. The wind blew the sand so much that it was practically negligible. What, if anything, could follow him anyway?

On the third day he found out.


End file.
